


Blending In

by Carciel



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Bilbo vs Thorin, Challenges, Happy Ending, Homophobia, Humor, M/M, Mentions of Assassinations, Mentions of little violence, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-01-24 14:59:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1609292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carciel/pseuds/Carciel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oscar winning actor and former CIA agent Bilbo Baggins finds himself roped into a final mission- to protect the gorgeous industrialist Thorin Oakenshield from assassinations by posing as his besotted new fiancé. If only Thorin would stop challenging him at every turn!</p><p>Current Chapter Summary: A lighthearted party turns sour, lives end up at stake, and Bilbo faces off against a deadly assassin, who carries an even more dangerous truth of his past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meeting Thorin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please go down for notes.

Thunder rolls overhead as Bilbo races to his trailer. The sky is overcast and rain falls in a steady beat, dripping from the overhangs of his trailer to form small puddles on the ground. His trailer is parked near a small wood and the smell of fresh earth, tangy and rich assaults his senses. 

 

There is little wind, but the water is cold and he shivers slightly.

Bilbo takes a final lungful of air, laden with the smell of earth and rain and steps inside. He quickly divests himself of his coat, which drops to the ground with a wet, splotchy sound. His shoes and socks are equally soaked, and he flings them in a deep corner. A small trail of muddy water follows the trajectory of the boots, and he winces at the mess.

 

 The rain and the pleasant warmth of his trailer are enough for him to put the mud out of his mind. He begins to relax slowly into the solitude, years of training preventing him from letting his guard down all at once. They are critical abilities that count when your life hangs by a thread.

 

As he moves to grab a towel to dry his hair, he senses a small movement in the back of the van. It's out of place enough to not qualify as a flutter of wind from a carelessly open window, and there is a distinct lack of spray. Bilbo stops his movements and moves stealthily along to the wall. Whoever the intruder may be, Bilbo knows that they are exceptionally well trained, since the movement is deliberate on their part. He hadn't even noticed the intrusion till they had moved.

His first instinct is to retreat into the shadows and figure out who it may be. He mentally recounts his enemies from past missions, people with an agenda against him or people left wronged and disgruntled. He comes up blank.

 

Prior to his retirement, he had been a polite, if not genial agent, friendly and warm. He cannot remember anyone towards whom he bears any ill will or anyone who may bear him the same. Then this would either  be a hit - either an assassination, or someone wishes to use him for leverage or information. But he has no family or active connections to his old job, and any or all information that he could provide against his employers would be over seven years old. Anyone wealthy enough to hire a mercenary of present skill would certainly not send them after a retired agent who had never been part of the classified circles.

 

That would leave the final option of being used for his own abilities. Bilbo sidles against the wall and grabs a knife that he keeps taped under the table adjacent to him. He has no intention to go down easily. Anyone who intrudes on him in a manner so furtive would not want his talents to be used for anything that would be legal.

 

Bilbo shifts in position, readying his stance. The chances that he might win against his opponent in armed hand to hand combat are slim at best. But Bilbo has worked for many years utilising the benefit of a surprise attack. It has always been one of his strengths - and the reason why he has often been on ambush missions. 

 

There is only one chance to take, then. He bounds out of his spot, careful not to make a single sound. Yelling and belligerent swinging are theatrics that only Hollywood movies can use. In real life, sound would alert his intruder far quicker than he would  want, and the element of surprise that he banks on would be lost. However, before he can fly all the way across the trailer, the intruder leans forward and switches on the small lights that dot the roof of the van. The sudden glare drops him off kilter just as much as the movement and person making the movement do. 

 

“GANDALF?”

 

He tries to skid to a halt, but physics is a hard mistress. Momentum carries him forward just as he presses his bare feet against the cool floor, and the sudden change in acceleration makes him topple forwards. He raises his arm in an instinctive move to shield, and crashes into Gandalf with enough force to send them both against the floor. The knife swings, and catches them both - Bilbo in a clumsy gash across his left arm, and Gandalf in a shallow cut over his cheek. 

 

Gandalf’s firm blue eyes move down at him, and Bilbo feels himself inflame with embarrassment. He’s deposited in a frumpy heap on top of his ex-boss, especially after having identified him as an intruder, and then having cut them both. The knife clatters away from his fingers as he quickly jumps up, and hops from foot to foot. Gandalf gives him an inscrutable glance, and Bilbo feels himself shrink even further as the man stands up and towers over him. 

 

Then he smiles. “My dear Bilbo. While I can certainly say I did not expect this greeting, perhaps I am to blame for my furtive behaviour.” He grips Bilbo’s arm, gently but firmly, and steers him away from the wall and towards the couch. “While your instincts are yet as keen, I must say your knifework is getting a little sloppy.” 

 

And Bilbo blushes fiercely under his amused gaze. 

 

___

 

Gandalf looks much the same, if the length of his beard is not taken into account. He still dresses as a wandering wizard out of a fantasy novel - with a gray robe buckled securely at his waist, a long grey scarf that is wound across his neck, and a large, floppy pointed grey hat that looks like a prop out of the Harry Potter movies. The staff he uses to steady himself with is different, with closer lines forming an intricate bulb at the top. Bilbo knows better than to touch the staff. Gandalf may perhaps be old, but he is no less a fearsome fighter, and he uses his staff to great effect. It is an expensive staff, made of the finest wood and inlaid with a single, intricate line of silver. Gandalf is getting fonder of finery, for Bilbo doesn’t recall such luxury being used before. 

 

His blue eyes still crinkle in lines of amused affection and fondness, and Bilbo cannot help but smile. Gandalf has always been an unconventional handler for the CIA, and he has always been a good boss as well. He is glad to see Gandalf again - of all the people he knows at his former job, Gandalf is the one whom he respects and looks up to the most. 

 

Gandalf patches up his own injury with practised ease, Bilbo struggles more with his own. He has bled a great deal, although not enough for him to require medical intervention, and the arm is slick with blood from the cut. Gandalf puts up with his inefficient puttering for a while longer than he can remember, but takes over the bandaging in the end. Bilbo is too used to Gandalf’s precision to resist, and the bandage is securely and neatly in place, protecting his wound from exposure and dust. He is not nearly as embarrassed as before - Gandalf has seen him both at his best and his worst. 

 

Bilbo doesn’t allow Gandalf to make tea, because the man is a guest and he has retained almost all of his propriety, bar the fact that he had almost landed on him with the belief that he had appeared to stuff him in a sack. Gandalf only watches him fumble about and offers no help of his own. 

 

When tea steams in front of them, vapours curling in soft tendrils in the cold air of the trailer, Bilbo turns to Gandalf with an expectant glance. Gandalf doesn’t seem flurried, only continuing to take a lungful of smoke that he breathes into the air. Bilbo catches the whiff of some exotic but sweet smelling weed, and profiles it mentally as a possible narcotic. He also reminds himself to ask Gandalf where to get some of his own when he would leave. 

 

Finally, he discards his pipe and fixes him with his gaze, unrelenting. But he can detect definite amusement in it as well, and he worries for a minute. He can certainly trust Gandalf to come up with a task that would be embarrassing, dangerous and funny to none but him alone. 

 

“Bilbo, I’m going to send you on an adventure.” 

 

Bilbo gapes at him. 

 

Gandalf chuckles to himself before continuing. “You remember that part of the reason why we agreed to let you retire and pursue your dreams of acting was for the promise of a single mission that you would perform for us when asked? I have come to claim that promise. This mission is special, and it requires someone of your specific talents. But even so, I think it will be quite an adventure, for you.” 

 

Curious but apprehensive, Bilbo leans forward to learn more. He remembers the terms of his dismissal well - the promise of a single mission that could be called in at any time has always haunted him. He revels in the chance to finally be rid of the burden, but he knows enough about government agencies to know that whatever he is being sought out for will not be simple. 

 

Gandalf seems to take his open movement as a sign to continue. “Have you been reading the news lately, Bilbo?”

 

Bilbo shakes his head minutely. He has been far too busy keeping up with his releases and completing his shots. Taking into account the time it takes for him to move from one shot location to another, he has barely had enough time to eat and sleep, much less catch up with the news, which has always been trite.

 

But Gandalf’s mention of the news is significant, and Bilbo wonders which important event has he missed this time. There is no impatience in Gandalf’s tone or face, but he gets the feeling that a faux pas has been committed in any case. 

 

There is the smallest quirk to his lips. “I shall surmise for you, then. You have been kept very busy of late.” 

 

Bilbo leans back into his seat. Mission briefings are never small, because they have to deliver information and correctness. He might as well make himself comfortable, he is no longer required to stand upon ceremony as a junior agent. Still, a part of him wants to stand up straight and get his mission. 

 

“Three days ago, there were a series of assassination attempts carried out on few of our eminent industrialists. The attacks were nonetheless designed to disrupt daily commerce and cause mass panic, and they very nearly succeeded. With the lives of their CEOs and directors in danger, many of our prominent companies have lost significant market share, with a few plummeting over 30% of their market share. While we intend to investigate the issue, the current scenario is of tumultuous economic standing, and people are panicking. I want to assign you to be one of the guards to a certain Industrialist, since you are well versed in assassinations, and are a fine protector. I expect you to ably guard him from all possible threats.” 

 

Bilbo nods uncertainly, but confusion reigns in his mind. “Gandalf, there are many in the CIA who are well versed with the techniques used by assassins, and some have even been  your  assassins. I have never carried out an assassination, and there must certainly be others who are better than me. Why would you need me to guard?”

 

Gandalf smiles lightly, but his eyes are sharper. “Good catch, Master Baggins. You have always had a clever bent to you. You’re being selected for this mission because of the unique features it presents, and because you are the best person for it in my mind.” 

 

Flummoxed, Bilbo can not find any answer to offer Gandalf, who takes his silence as another cue to continue. 

 

“Bilbo, in this case, there is not much point in presenting our executives with a personal guard, especially in cases like these. You’re going to play the part of his besotted new fiance, with a lavish wedding looming in the horizon. It would give you closer access than being a guard would provide, and your protection would certainly be better. Who better to pick for an act to play a fiance than our finest actor?” 

 

Bilbo flushes red before the words register. “His? Fiance? What?” He is starting to lose articulation, but in all the outrageous missions he has been accorded, he has never been tasked to play a gay man before. “Gandalf, I’m not even qualified to do this. I’m not even gay. I can’t -”

 

Gandalf pines him with a stare and Bilbo falters. “Since when has your personal preference ever affected what the mission has demanded of you?” 

 

“But, Gandalf. I’m no longer a member of - of your agents. The same rules don’t apply anymore.” 

 

Gandalf picks his tea and takes a sip. Bilbo follows suit, but the tea is lukewarm and the sugar in it is making his lips stick. 

 

“You may not be an agent now, but you were one before. And this is in keeping with your own pledge to us, hence you would be treated in your old capacity, Bilbo. Do not expect a change. I would not have chosen this disposition for you if I did not believe you were the right person for it.” 

 

The tone is final, and Bilbo glares at him. But he doesn’t question his orders anymore. It would do him no good. 

 

Gandalf chuckles at the mutiny in his gaze. “You would do fine, Master Baggins. You have had a stellar acting career so far, as those Golden Statuettes that dot your mantlepiece proclaim. You can certainly play a man’s fiance and still protect him from threats. But don’t worry, I made sure to pick someone that would certainly flatter you, Bilbo. And you have a talent for looking unassuming, even harmless. It would give you the best cover to investigate yet stick close to your betrothed in any circumstance.”

 

He is outclassed in this match, and the logic is sound. His best choice is to accept it and allow Gandalf to take him in whatever direction he wants him to go. “Who is it then, Gandalf? The lucky soul who’s starstruck fiance I have to be?” 

 

The particularly evil glint in Gandalf’s twinkling eyes makes him swallow his tea nervously. Nothing good comes his way when Gandalf regards him with a gaze that positively amused and entertained. “Thorin Oakenshield, the owner of Erebor Enterprises.” 

 

“What? Why him?” Bilbo remembers Thorin Oakenshield. Although privately and publicly regarded as one of the handsomest entrepreneurs in the world, Erebor Entreprises’ famous CEO isn’t someone he is fond of. While he has never met the man in real life, he has met many people who have been in his company, and not much of their versions of him have endeared him to Bilbo. Thorin has always been politely detached at best and freezingly courteous at worst, turning down invites and propositions from members of his current profession. In fact he would bear them with minimal discreetness allowed to him when his company provided most of the devices they would use to create their movies. His quiet stoicism drew the butterflies  amongst the actors as easily as nectar would, and they would often mob him for a sudden infatuation that Bilbo personally thought was extraordinarily farfetched for even the ditziest actors. 

 

“While Erebor is generally involved in your cinematographic equipment, surely you are not blind to the fact that the company also provides most of our technological devices - ranging from smartphones to computers to everyday machines like microwaves and washing machines. At the time of this conversation, they dominate over 80% of all hardware in the market. This is excluding the services they provide in the software sector - they program our banking services and our security encryptions, our GPS tracking systems and our search engines. Even our stock market and big data calculations are handled by them. I believe they just expanded to Train and Aircraft management services. Suffice it to say without Erebor, we could be looking at a standstill. Which makes a significant attack on Thorin all the more important - he personally overlooks each and every resource Erebor provides. He is the vital link to it’s function. Without him the company would fold, and so would our global markets and economies. With no one poised to take the mantle from Erebor if the enterprise goes down this instant, we’re looking at nothing else but a technological meltdown.” 

 

Bilbo frowns. “Why would someone like Thorin Oakenshield agree to have a stranger play his fiance? From what I know of him, he is hardly one who gives away his trust freely.”

 

Gandalf smiles evenly this time. “I, ah, convinced him to give this experiment a try. He...agreed to listen, I suppose.” 

 

Before Bilbo can ask what exactly Gandalf would have used to persuade a man famous for his ability to disregard people and opinions, there is a loud, insistent knock at his door. It makes the trailer with the slightest tremor, and Bilbo marvels at the physical strength of whoever stands on the other side of the door, because it seems like they are not even trying.

 

Gandalf stands, brushes his gray robe and fixes his hat. “He is here. Come, Master Baggins. It is time to introduce you to your new fiance.”

 

___

 

Thorin Oakenshield looks even more enthralling in person. 

 

A raincoat of sorts covers his broad shoulders, but leaves his head uncovered. His luxuriant black hair is damp from the rain, curling into small ringlets as they fan across his back. There are two braids at the sides of his face, framing it in stems of glossy black. The rays of silver are prominent even in the dampness, and it gives him a touch of elegance that is unique in itself. The rain slants into his face, highlighting the clear blue of his eyes. Bilbo is partially convinced he has never seen eyes that beautiful before. His black beard is trimmed short, but covers most of his jaw, and thick fingers cover the handle to his trailer. As he steps in from the rain, Bilbo can almost taste the fresh aroma of wet earth as it hangs around him, but also a deeper undertone of sandalwood and pine. He’s appalled at how extremely invigorating yet relaxing he finds the scent of Thorin Oakenshield.

 

Oh , Bilbo thinks sourly,  his reputation for beauty is certainly well deserved . 

 

Thorin greets Gandalf with the slightest of smiles, one that lights his face in a way that makes Bilbo’s heart beat just a little harder. The difference the small turn of lips makes to his handsome face is astounding, and Bilbo is sure he is simply staring, awestruck. He shakes himself, but he makes little progress. His eyes are glued to his face. 

 

“Gandalf.” 

 

Thorin’s voice is deep and rich, low but without any roughness, smooth as the finest chocolate. The barest hint of warmth in his voice conveys both his affection and his friendship, and Bilbo feels something warm curl in the depths of his belly. Dimly, he’s aware that he thinks it’s unfair - that the man in front of him isn’t just drop dead gorgeous, he has a voice that would make angels turn. 

 

Gandalf greets him like an old friend, taking the wet raincoat from Thorin and stepping away as he comes in. “Welcome, Thorin.” He hands Thorin a fluffy white towel, (from his personal collection, too) and waits for him to dry his face. 

 

Bilbo takes the time to watch Thorin from relative safety before Gandalf calls his attention to him. He can definitely appreciate why the acting butterflies flocked to him - Thorin is perhaps the handsomest man he has ever seen. He radiates authority and elegance that almost borders on regal, and holds himself up with such ease and confidence that Bilbo almost envies him. Under his raincoat, his clothes are simple - a red shirt covered by a long, plain blue jacket of sorts, belted at a strong waist with an elaborate buckle. His feet are covered by thick, tall boots, a custom kind that Bilbo has never seen before. But they are still made for comfort, not show - while Thorin does not flaunt his money or waste it on himself, he certainly does like the smallest luxuries. 

 

Gandalf towers over even Thorin, who is easily five inches taller than him. “Thorin, this is Bilbo Baggins. He has gladly acquiesced to aid us in finding those targeting your life by posing as your fiance.” 

 

Thorin turns his brilliant gaze towards him, and for a second, Bilbo forgets all thought. Those lovely eyes have a hypnotic stare, and Bilbo lets it wash over him for a second. But his reverie is jarred by Thorin’s voice. 

 

“You promised me a trained agent, Gandalf. Why do you offer me this actor now? He looks afraid of his own shadow. He looks more like a grocer than an actor. This is not honouring the terms of our bargain. If you wished to toy with me -” 

 

Well, well. Mr. Pretty Face was guaranteed to have a lousy personality , Bilbo muses uncharitably. You can’t always have everything. 

 

Gandalf chuckles, and Thorin stops. He places a hand on his shoulder, and Thorin’s expression shifts to slightly murderous. “Do not worry, Mr. Oakenshield. I do not offer you a grocer. Bilbo Baggins is an accomplished actor, and I expect his acting to be of great use to us.”  

 

Thorin, if possible, looks even more unconvinced. The distrust in his gaze as he takes stock of Bilbo is enough to set him off, however. 

 

“I haven’t been just an actor. Prior to becoming one I was a CIA agent under Gandalf here. And a darned successful one, too!” His face feels warm under his outburst, and for a brief second he worries about embarrassing himself in front of Thorin. He quashes that line of thought immediately. Who cares what the man in front of him thinks? Even if he’s a gorgeous hu-

 

Bilbo firmly stomps on that thought and turns to glare at Thorin, whose expression shifts from confused to annoyed and settles at amused. The low rumble of a chuckle vibrates through him and Bilbo shifts, unwilling to close his eyes to savour the sound. 

 

“You did not tell me that your choice would be a little spitfire, Gandalf.”

 

Bilbo glares at him with enough fierceness to set tinder aflame, but Thorin remains unaffected. The spark of amusement stays in his eyes even as he settles into serious conversation with Gandalf. 

 

“I will not be responsible for... him, Gandalf. And I expect him to do his duties admirably and protect me within the frame of your ridiculous scheme, else I will disavow helping you and find myself competent security.” 

 

Him, indeed.  Irritated now, all traces of his infatuation with the man evaporate into thin air. Oh, he would show him. Thorin Oakenshield would rue the day when he crossed Bilbo Baggins. 

 

Gandalf only gives Thorin a smile that is so sweet that it unsettles him deeply. “Thorin, he is one of the most capable agents I have ever worked with. He will protect you ably, and he is not as green as you expect him to be. Nor as soft. I look forward to him surprising you in the near future.” 

 

Gandalf’s half-baked assurance is apparently enough for Thorin, but Bilbo suspects the man came with his mind made up to listen to Gandalf in any case. He also suspects that Thorin has made alternate arrangements for himself just in case, and is agreeing to go with him just to humour Gandalf. So he would be monitored with Thorin. Bilbo shrugs mentally. He has known better than to believe that his fiance would simply accept a stranger without making any attempts to safeguard his own life. 

 

“Very well then, Gandalf. Send him to my house at 7 tonight. We need to make the announcement of our, ah, ‘engagement’ public.” Thorin smiles at Bilbo with a hint of challenge, pointedly picks his tea and drinks it in one gulp. His mesmerising eyes hold a mocking challenge, and Bilbo is incensed enough that the magic of his eyes fails to hold him this time. Then he wisely collects his raincoat and shows himself out. 

 

As an influential figure, Thorin would certainly be expected to make a public statement. Bilbo intends to match him wit for wit there. Mentally, he thanks Gandalf, because he can definitely tell that this mission would be anything but  boring . 

 

Oh, yes. The challenge would be on. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been forever since I've written a word, and hopefully this isn't too bad a attempt at a return to writing. Now, I have little to none knowledge of CIA and assassins, but I do intend to do a lot of research. I'll definitely appreciate if any mistakes are pointed out, and I do answer comments on time. I'm good at that. Please do leave your thoughts? I'm a slacker for a writer and they help me actually try to write.
> 
> In other notes, Bilbo's fascination with Thorin's pretty face is all mine. I'm shamelessly obsessed with Thorin - because the guy is hot. I'm giving Bilbo all my unnecessary emotions on that account. It would certainly be interesting watching devious! Bilbo and Playful! Thorin. They look good together. 
> 
> All mistakes are my own, because I have no beta and am surprisingly bad at catching my own errors. Any one offering would certainly be welcome.


	2. Connecting Pasts: 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lighthearted party turns sour, lives end up at stake, and Bilbo faces off against a deadly assassin, who carries an even more dangerous truth of his past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some parts of my music choices may have snuck in. Special mentions: Velma for pointing out instances of homophobia and discrimination in the film Industry. Hopefully I do more justice to it than I did before. Please let me know if I've blown it out of proportion again. And my personal thanks to Chenelle for letting me borrow her ideas for murder and using her as an assassination sounding board. I'm very grateful for your assistance. 
> 
> Lobelia is actually a fairly easy target to pick as something to hate, so I want to shake things a little bit.
> 
> I apologise for taking this long with a post. Hopefully the length of the chapter - 11000 words, will help assuage the lateness somewhat. I thank you all for your response. It was one of the greatest motivators in my writing.

 

**There are many things that I would**

**Like to say to you**

**But I don't know how**

**Because maybe**

**You're gonna be the one that saves me**

**And after all**

**You're my wonderwall**

**~Wonderwall, Oasis**

 

The first call Bilbo gets after Gandalf leaves is from Lobelia Sackville-Baggins. In the privacy of his own house, half dressed for a mission he still finds ridiculous, he stares at his phone screen for a few moments, uncomprehending. His ruthless cousin-by-marriage is his manager and a famous bitch, known for being as hostile as possible. Whatever news she has for him would not be good. Cutting the call would do him no favours - Lobelia would hound him till he would accept the call out desperation. Best to rip off this bandage from the start.

 

“You’re dropped.” Lobelia’s curt, frozen tone blindsides him. “Sandyman does not want a gay actor in his movies. Your romantic appeal is all but lost to him.”

 

Astounded, Bilbo finds himself with no words to say. Lobelia ignores the stunned silence and continues, her tone icily courteous. “Your other projects have been suddenly and dramatically been put on hold. Tell me, dear cousin,” Bilbo gulps involuntarily at the sweet venom now effusing in her tone, “When did you become gay? And how did you keep this miraculous orientation of yours a secret from us? Or were you only planning to tell us once you had bedded Thorin Oakenshield?”

 

How had he forgotten the thinly veiled but widespread prejudice of the film industry? As much as directors and producers claimed that they stood for equality of all actors as a whole, lost all of their openness when it came to supporting such actors in their own movies. Lobbies, religious zealotry, the simple act of reviling a human for choosing to love one of his own sex- reducing them to nothing but objects of hate and disgust- how can he have forgotten this cold, cruel reality of the world he is now a part of?

 

As a personal principle, Bilbo has never found much logic in the reasoning that gay love could be “unnatural”, “vile” or even “sinful”. How can an emotion that is touted to be as pure as love slip into revulsion because it is shared between two men and two women? The gender of the person beside him matters so little to him that he has never stopped to consider the reactions of those who see them together and only think of a man in love with a man. He has simply failed to consider a fallout because he has never believed for gender to be important, and the consequences have caught him unarmed.

 

“Bilbo Baggins.” Lobelia’s shrill voice cuts through his reverie with the sharp intensity of a motor drill. He winces and almost drops the phone, fighting the urge to massage his ears. “When were you planning to tell us?”

 

Bilbo opens his mouth to justify, but realisation strikes him before words slip from his lips. “How do you know about this arrangement? I thought no announcements were to be made till we revealed the engagement to the public?”

 

He can hear papers rustle in the background and the broken tones of a reporter. Lobelia is looking for evidence to back up her answer, and Bilbo gives her the time required. “Thorin Oakenshield made the announcement of his engagement public when he met the reporters today at 3 PM for discussions of Erebor’s launch of their latest products. And that his party would not only commemorate the success of the Arkenstone Program, but also to announce his upcoming marriage to a man. Regardless to say, the press has had a field day with the news, anti-gay lobbies have sprung up everywhere vehemently protesting the sale and burning of Erebor’s products, and your name has been leaked by a few “anonymous” sources. Ted Sandyman is a well known bigot, Baggins. How did you think that this act would escape his ever-hungry rabid homophobic agenda? And other producers are looking to follow his example.”

 

Bilbo itches to give her the truth. Cutthroat and hostile as Lobelia is, she has always been in his corner, an iron wall of defense as dangerous as she is unpleasant. The truth would give her ammunition to put the homophobes into place. But he knows his priorities, and Thorin’s life rides on how well he plays the besotted fiance. This is a mission he has taken, albeit in a poorly thought-out fashion, but the success of it rides on his organising the details that are given to him in a manner as convincing as possible. And he knows Lobelia is waiting for him to break the silence and explain his sudden outing to her, and she knows him too well to be fooled easily.

 

He laughs nervously, and he can just feel Lobelia’s murderous gaze. “It was supposed to be a secret, Lobelia.” He casts his mind for any movie that may have an association for Erebor’s entrancing CEO. Fortunately, he can recall more than six separate instances of Thorin’s involvement in his movies, usually to test out some new equipment. He latches on one of them and uses it to spin a tale. He just hopes it passes Lobelia’s inspection standards. “Remember Erebor testing out their new animation software? I was in the studio recording for a minor role in Eglantine’s audio book production. We just happened to meet that day.” He lets the slightest amount of awe and love infuse his voice, and focuses on Thorin’s impressive physical characteristics instead. “And I was blown away. He was the most gorgeous man that I had ever seen, and seeing him stand there was almost too tempting to resist. I didn’t even realise when I had gone over to talk to him. He had seen taken aback then, but was simply the most enchanting man I had ever met. Perhaps it was just a whirlwind romance, but honestly, Lobelia, he turned out to be one of the smartest and the best men I knew. I simply could not stop myself from loving him even if I tried.”

 

Bilbo is aware of the fact that his voice has taken an almost devotional note only after his “speech” to Lobelia is done. A part of his brain scrambles away horrified, but his firm professional core congratulates him on giving a performance that is at the very least, sellable to Lobelia, judging from the amused but approving cluck he gets from the phone. His mission for the moment - convincing Lobelia has been accomplished. He can worry about the implications of what thinking about Thorin Oakenshield does to him in the privacy of his own mind. He suspects he would not like the answer.

 

_Mind on the job_ , he reminds himself firmly. _Thorin is your charge. You cannot develop feelings for him. It would compromise everything._

 

Lobelia’s harsh tone is tempered somewhat by her amusement. “So why did Thorin declare the engagement now?”

 

Bilbo shrugs and allows his previous state of heady infatuation take over him again. “I was terrified to know he had been shot at his apartment. He didn’t even bother to tell me! I found out over the 9 PM news. Needless to say I was extremely angry - and upset.”

 

He chuckles lightly. “We had quite a row on that one. He didn’t want to worry me, but I was more worried by not being notified at all. Nor could I be at his side when he could have been seriously injured or dead - I don’t want to find out about the death of someone I love through national television. The proposal was his way of placating me - and making it public would mean I would always be kept in the loop, no matter what it would be. I heard he was getting some defences set up against snipers in his home now, so he should be safe.” His tone makes it clear how little he believes that, and he can hear Lobelia hum carefully in the background.

 

Her following words are warmer, and Bilbo finds himself grateful. “Well, there is a political and media storm, but nothing that we can’t handle. For now, the media has been held at bay with the notice that you would address their concerns at Erebor’s party. You best think of something in the meantime. The orthodox religious parties and the anti-gay groups are picketing for a burning of your movies and boycott from the industry.”

 

Bilbo winces at the hard edge in Lobelia’s casual tone, but makes sure to let no emotion pass through to her. “I have made sure that they have been fully informed about our legal actions in those cases. The pro-LGBT groups are watching you cautiously, with some more hardlining groups taking a harsher stance against you. However, your previous record of not dating anyone stands in good stead with them, so you only need to convince them with your act of being in love.” He can hear the wry tone. Caught after all. Lobelia does not push him, but the fact that she knows anyway takes away a burden from his shoulders. She has perhaps put two and two together anyway. Bilbo can just imagine the phone call Gandalf would get. “You were very convincing. Are you sure nothing stirs in that heart of yours, cousin?”

 

Bilbo laughs nervously at her question, wondering the same. He has never managed to act subconsciously on feelings alone. And simply thinking about Thorin’s face has allowed him to project the image of a lovestruck fool. This would definitely bear investigating, but for now he is glad for it. It would make convincing the reporters and the groups of the “honesty” of his intentions far easier. And he has to admit, the man is exceptional.  

 

“Our matter of business is not yet complete, cousin.” The no-nonsense tone catches his attention, and he forces himself to concentrate on Lobelia instead of dreaming about Thorin. “The public is watching you cautiously as well. Erebor is the biggest player in the market for major industries in the world. Thorin’s surprise announcement has done nothing to daunt the profits of his company. Of course, his admirers have bemoaned the lack of a star-studded romance with him, but there have been no dissenters that I can find. The only person facing any sort of backlash is you. I will do what I can to mitigate the damages, but old prejudices still run deep in our industry, and it may cost you roles and friendships of people that you may have coveted. Be wary of that. Of course, if you get Thorin to step in, he can prevent the fallout completely, seeing as his company handles almost all the projects in the game.”

 

Bilbo considers the option. His duty is only to protect Thorin, not to lose all the progress he has made in the film industry. The idea of using Thorin’s influence to finish the fallout has great charm to it. However, he has never wanted to ask for help, and simply taking the easy way out makes his struggle a cop-out. He knows the LGBT groups would look to him to further their agenda in the film industry and politics, and to simply use Erebor’s name to escape from the harsh realities that he knows he should face makes him feel like a coward.

 

“No, Lobelia. Not right now. I’d ask him if I have to only if I have no other option left. And I know we’re not so bigoted that no one will offer me a role. I will not use Thorin to claw my way back with money or influence. Besides, doing that may effectively sink me with the crowd - there is nothing heroic about hiding behind your fiance’s shadow. An Oscar-winning actor struggling to find work after his “coming out” is a far more romantic ideal. I don’t want to disappoint my fans.”

 

Lobelia’s laughter echoes in the silence of his room even as he joins her. “You have a point, cousin. Do remember to introduce me to your lucky betrothed at the party today. I do wish to see him. Before I forget, however, Drogo and Primula extend their greetings and have taken the liberty of picking out your tuxedo already. It will be delivered to you in a few minutes now. They will also meet you at the party, and are considerably excited about the whole affair. We can discuss what to do when we meet. Take care, Bilbo.”

 

The call is over before Bilbo can reply in kind. He shakes his head, and goes to wait for the package that Primula would send. Fashion designer she may be, Bilbo knows their opinions on clothing hardly match. But whatever she would choose would certainly be better than his pick, and he decides to go with her choice this time. If it doesn’t work for him, he can always use one of his own. He keeps a pair ready all the time.

 

*_*_*_*_*

 

Thorin sends someone to pick him up at 6:00, since Bilbo has no idea where he must go. But looking at the limo in front of him, he wishes that he had just found out Thorin’s address himself and not bothered with the “being-driven” part at all. Irritated at the unnecessary opulence, he shifts on his feet, uncomfortable in the clothing that Primula has sent, even though he knows she has taken great care to keep to his needs.

 

The tuxedo is simple, but clearly expensive, glossy and soft to touch. The jacket curves with his body shape, showing the lean firmness of his waist without being tight or restrictive in his movements. The shirt she has chosen is a crisp white, but a dressier shirt has also been included. He has no idea what the use of that may be, but he carries it with him anyway, along with his laptop, external drives and an assortment of tools gifted by the CIA in honour of returning to the “fray”. The tie he wears is tucked in neatly into his coat, black with the etching of silver thread. It is just as expensive as the rest of his ensemble. He makes a mental note about asking Primula for a way to repay her.

 

“Mr Baggins?”

 

Bilbo blinks, taken aback. The man in front of him is smartly dressed, save for the floppy and extremely strange hat he wears on his head, obscuring most of his face from the light. He takes it off to bow to him, and Bilbo catches sight of friendly eyes, a warm smile and a ridiculously curved moustache. He simply radiates friendship, and Bilbo smiles back. “My name is Bofur. I am to be your designated chauffeur.”

 

He replaces the hat on his head, but Bilbo can see the genuine friendship in his eyes. But for all his warmth, his eyes can also pick up the signs of brutal training in the man’s body, in his stance and in the sharpness of his gaze. Bofur is no mere driver. “You’re well trained.”

 

The smile stays in place, but there are hints of genuine admiration in it. Bilbo feels like he passed his first test, even though he has no idea what it is. “You are certainly sharp to pick up on that. I am also Thorin’s bodyguard, and for the duration of your mission, yours as well. Thorin does not want you to get hurt.”

 

Bilbo bites back the indignation that surges in him at the idea of being “protected”, since he needs none of his own. It’s obvious that Thorin does not trust him to be of any use and the thought stings unexpectedly. Bilbo pushes it away and forces his tone to stay warm. “I’m glad he thought of me.”

 

Bofur laughs. “No, you’re not. I can feel you seethe from this distance. But I believe that you would be good at your job, else Gandalf would not have chosen you. He does believe in perfection, after all.”

 

Mollified to some extent, Bilbo follows him to the opulent limo, frowning disapprovingly at the extravagance. Bofur simply chuckles at his consternation, and offers no explanation beyond, ”You’re to be Thorin’s fiance, laddie. It’s expected that he show off, especially when he wants to lure out his attackers.”

 

Bofur drives them down to richer parts of the city, to the end of the city’s tip. They’re in the old parts of the island city now, and Thorin owns the very edge of the island where his apartments overlook the wide expanse of the ocean. Waves crash against shore, the seafront road is lined with trees casting a green canopy over the tarmac, shielding them from the summer sun. Bilbo lowers the window of his side in an attempt to appreciate his surroundings better. The sea breeze that hits him in the face is cool and carries the salty tang of the sea, refreshing and pure at the same time. The only sound is the delighted chirping of the birds and the almost silent hum of the car as it speeds by the road.

 

They pass a set of great gates, the insignia of the House of Durin emblazoned beautifully on them. Bofur stops at them to verify his passenger, before they slide shut behind him. In front of them, six buildings tower in the sea of green, and he knows that he has entered a place that few have seen, and even fewer have entered. Bofur weaves through the shadowed road to stop before the last building, and waits patiently for his passenger to get out. Or get over his surprise.

 

Bilbo has never seen such exquisite gardens in his life. The tropical climate of their city supports much vegetation, but the plants that grow in Thorin's gardens are as exotic as they are beautiful.  An ornate fountain stands at the helm of the first garden and Bilbo can imagine a few more, adding opulence to the place. The air is thick with the sweet scent of summer blooms, and Bilbo eyes a patch of jasmine blooming close to him. He strokes the flower with a gentle hand - he adores jasmine, and part of him wishes he could pluck a few to carry.  

 

The building they are parked in front of is definitely not an apartment. A mansion, built almost in the still of a medieval Disney castle stands above him. He finds that it partially resembles the Updown Court in London, but the palatial structure in front of him can double as a castle. It is almost fantastical in nature, if not for the elegance in the construction of the building. He recalls that Erebor originally started out as a architectural design company before branching out, and Thorin Oakenshield has certainly used the best of his services to create a home for himself. So the first of Thorin’s statements to him turns to be a lie. Bilbo wonders fleetingly just how many more lies he would have to uncover.

 

But before he can take his line of thought much further, the doors of the mansion open - delicately and exquisitely carved as they are - to reveal a pair of young men that stand arm in arm. Bilbo’s first thought is of light and dark - the younger of the two has hair the colour of ebony, while his companion sports hair of a sunny blonde colouration he has never seen before. The  grin of identical mischief is common to both however, and it gives Bilbo pause.

 

The two fly down to Bilbo before he can ask for their names. They greet Bofur with enthusiasm and a fair degree of respect, and he welcomes them both with a warm hug. Then they turn their attentions to Bilbo.

“I’m Fili.” The blonde grins. “And Kili.” They bow in a single, fluid, coordinated motion. “At your service.” The smiles of exuberant glee stay pasted to their faces as they swarm him. “You’re Uncle Thorin’s fiance? So you’re going to be our new uncle?”

 

Bilbo loses track by the third question as they excitedly poke him in places. He can gather from their conversation that they are his nephews - children of his deceased sister. But their enthusiastic demeanour does not cover the fact that they know who he truly is, what his job would be. Thorin evidently does not believe in keeping his family out of the loop. Their feelings on seeing him are genuine, but they are also a good cover for their overarching concern for Thorin’s life. This is simply to put on a good show. Bilbo can appreciate it - their joy makes his own trepidation easy to conceal, and their exuberance will add belief to a flimsy story that he would have had trouble carrying out on his own.

 

Fili and Kili drag him inside the mansion, jerking him with enough force that he almost trips over his own feet. The grandeur of the insides top even the outside of his mansion, if a thing like that could ever be possible. He has certainly not pinned Thorin for being extravagant - he has certainly only ever seen the man dressed well, but not dressed expensively. He has no idea how to keep up with someone of such expensive tastes, and he is worried that people might pick up on their disharmony at that point. It would shatter the illusion that he must convey and place Thorin’s life in even greater danger.

 

Fili and Kili notice his frown and piece the problem together from his worried gazes to his surroundings. Kili interjects before his brother can, his cheer warm in the quiet of the room,  “Don’t worry, Uncle Bilbo. Uncle Thorin isn’t that high maintenance. This is an old family mansion - our great grandfather, Thrain was extremely fond of expensive and luxurious items. Uncle can not be bothered for most count, he simply keeps these things to remind himself of Grandfather Thrain.”

 

His words reassure him more than he can say, and Bilbo offers him a tentative smile. Kili grins back with blinding enthusiasm, and Bilbo allows him to tug him past the elaborate marble stairs and up into a room so he can meet the people involved in Thorin’s life.

 

Fili and Kili push him past a beautiful carved door of oak - Bilbo pauses a few seconds to marvel at the beauty - before being ushered inside to face a multitude of grim faces seated around a rectangular table. He can count at least 8 people, but notices the chairs are set for 10. Some are away, or will be expected soon. The scene is strangely reminiscent of job interview, and Bilbo schools his face into his best professional look. The closest to door - a bald man with a magnificent beard and tattoos gleaming brightly over his shaven head - glowers at him just as he steps in. Bilbo squares his jaw and waits for the disapproval.

 

“We’re going to get this thing to protect Thorin? He looks more like a commoner than a trained operative.”

 

Indignation rises in Bilbo even before he can stop the tide. He resists the urge to stalk over to the towering man and jab him in the chest, settling for clenching his fists instead. “My job requires me to be ditzy and unassuming, which I am, by the way! I am an actor. You need me to act to identify his enemies. To serve as his bait. And I’ve been a capable CIA agent for many years now. Longer than most people have played bodyguard! I can handle myself!”

 

The man shrugs. Bilbo catches a sullen mutter, but he is fairly sure it was deliberately pitched high enough for him to hear. “If you were so good, why’d the CIA let you go then?”

 

For a few seconds, Bilbo is almost incoherent with rage. Then he swallows down his anger and forces his tone into a veneer of calm he simply does not feel. “Because I almost got my hand severed and killed in a suicide mission I was sent to foil. Because I had had enough and given in my application for a resignation. I have never failed in any mission assigned to me, sir. I was personally contacted by the head of CIA himself to return on field for this mission. I did not ask for it, but I certainly understand the gravity of this situation. I do not intend to fail Thorin, and I do not like you questioning my abilities in thinly veiled insults. I’m sure Gandalf must have sent you my performance records to assure you of my abilities - this “glare and scare” routine should be reserved for your daughter’s prom date, not me. I have faced worse than you.”

 

His pronouncement is met with complete silence, and the bald man’s jaw has almost gone slack from shock. Then a snort breaks the silence, and quickly dissolves into a roaring fit of laughter that sweeps the entire room. Even the bald man grins wryly through his shock, and Bilbo sees a few members swipe at their eyes from laughing so hard.

 

Finally, the oldest among them rises - a man dressed in brick red with an impressive white beard and even whiter hair - and walks to him. He carries a file in one hand, and Bilbo spies his face on it. He carries himself with grace and poise, like an old jungle cat. His steps are measured and even on the marble floor, and Bilbo can almost feel the rhythm in the sounds they make. “Ah, laddie. You are certainly no pushover. It has been very long since I saw Dwalin’s face drop like that!” The man - Dwalin - grins sheepishly at his back. “Gandalf was right. You will be a good guard for Thorin, because you won’t be cowed by his temper or his presence. And your history at the CIA has been most promising.”

 

He leads him to a chair, and offers introductions. Balin, for himself with Dwalin as his brother, Nori, Dori, Gloin, Oin, Bombur for an extraordinarily rotund man with a kind face, and Bifur. Bilbo focuses on each face and commits it to memory, as knowing them may make a difference in a life or death situation. They eye him expectantly, and Bilbo gauges that his “putting down” of  Dwalin has at least given him a good stead with them now.

 

Balin shifts forward in his seat, and the merriment drains out of his eyes. “Now laddie, to business…”

 

Bilbo does not lean forward, but focuses his entire attention on him, readying himself for the instructions of the first mission he must carry out.

 

*_*_*_*_*

 

Thorin Oakenshield comes to fetch him from the suite he has been given, and Bilbo’s throat goes dry on seeing him. Thorin looks like he was born to wear a suit. The suit highlights the colour of his lovely eyes, even as the majority of his silken hair is drawn into a low ponytail. The neatly braided lines of hair still hang free, framing his face. The barest hint of a smile on his lips gives him a sexy charm that makes Bilbo almost salivate, before he reins in his mind and gives it a tight slap. It would not do to drool all over Thorin and forget his job. The blasted lust he suddenly feels in Thorin’s proximity does him no bloody good, and Bilbo firmly pledges to not let the man get to him.

 

Thorin crosses the room to him in an casual gait, but his natural elegance adds a hint of pure power and allure to it. Bilbo pinches himself hard to not let the motion affect him, and Thorin’s smile increases just a fraction. A stab of pure hate spikes through the fog of lust, as the blue eyes are threaded with deep amusement. The bastard is playing with him. Using his rampant sexual presence and beauty to fuck with his mind. Bilbo bites his tongue hard enough to taste blood, and the pain helps him focus.

 

Thorin bows to him politely, and then astounds him by offering a bouquet of the finest flowers Bilbo has ever seen. Flustered by the sudden display of loveliness, he momentarily forgets his righteous anger as he reaches to take them. The large lilies and the roses brush under his chin, their conflicting fragrances blending into a fresh aroma that refreshes his mind and warms his soul. He has always loved flowers, and the ones he holds in his arms are some of the best he has ever seen. He buries his nose through them again, inexorably pleased by the simple gesture.

 

“Thank you.” The murmur is almost smothered by the flowers, but he gives Thorin a bright smile, without embellishments or pretense, and he gets the distinct pleasure of watching Thorin’s lovely eyes widen in surprise. Bilbo hides a smile at the thought that Thorin tried the trick to offend him and is now taken aback at the fact that he loves flowers.

 

Thorin catches himself almost instantly, and his rich voice flows over Bilbo like a wave of hot chocolate, thick and delicious. “I am glad you like them, even though I did not intend to bring them for the same reason.” He reaches out to smoothen a crumpling petal, and Bilbo notices the exactness of his movements, and the gentleness of his motion. Thorin is not as prosy as he seems, he realises, and he is definitely fond of flowers.

 

Bilbo crosses over to the mantlepiece to stash the flowers in a glass vase, which he fills with water. The flowers add a layer of colour in an otherwise opulent but empty room, and he steps back to appreciate the simple beauty they bring. Behind him, he can hear Thorin hum a low, deep sound of appreciation that sinks into his bones and that he has to vigorously shake his head to clear. As Bilbo turns to face him again, he finds Thorin’s eyes pinned on him, their blue deepening to pure azure in the light. He almost shivers from the intensity.

 

Thorin does not shift his eyes from Bilbo as he crosses over to the mantlepiece, and his strong fingers grasp Bilbo’s suddenly limp hands. The touch is gentle even though the grip is tight, and Bilbo stares wildly as Thorin leans forward to faintly brush his lips against his own. Thorin’s lips are full and infinitely soft against his own, and the contact vanishes just as suddenly as it appears. But in his mind, it lingers vividly - the hotness of his breath, the unique smell of earth and sandalwood that Thorin seems to carry around him, and the press of those velvet lips against his own. It feels as intimate as a deep kiss, even though it has lasted the fraction of a second. He can feel his knees go weak, and almost buckles against the mantle.

 

Thorin’s eyes are alight with mischief, even though his tone is unaffected and serious. “Come, Master Baggins. It would not do to lollygag here all day. You have a job to accomplish.”

 

The tone cuts through the mist of Thorin’s kiss, and Bilbo feels rage flood through him. The bastard! The flowers and the kiss are simply a ploy to screw with his mind! He has certainly not forgotten their challenge, then. And what is wrong with him, letting Thorin’s body affect him thus? He has never behaved this way before - like a girl mooning after her clandestine lover. Embarrassment wars with fury, and fury wins. He glares at Thorin with enough heat to set wood ablaze, and Thorin smirks back at him with such superiority that he can put the smuggest bastard to shame.

 

Before he can decide what to hurl at Thorin, the man quickly saunters out of the room, leaving Bilbo to shred the flowers alone.

 

___

 

Bilbo ignores Thorin throughout the entire car ride, a fact that Thorin notices but does not seem to mind. He converses with his nephews instead, their voices covering all of Bilbo’s stony sullenness. Bilbo surveys them from his position.  Although they have not inherited Thorin’s exceptional beauty, they are handsome enough on their own - and once cleaned up well look like perfect accompaniments to their illustrious uncle. Thorin’s regal jawline and broad shoulders has been passed to both of them, and they carry it with the same easy grace their uncle does.

 

The venue for the party is as elegant as the mansion, and understated but royal. Bilbo cannot help but be impressed - all the parties that he has deigned to attend have been posh - bling and flattery thrown haphazardly to conceal the lack of any substance underneath. It is definitely luxuriant, because Thorin Oakenshield does not do anything in half measures, but impressive enough that Bilbo sees no need to start any argument for too much opulence.

 

Fili and Kili leave first, stepping out in a united motion that has Bilbo admiring their timing to give Thorin and Bilbo a moment to adjust themselves. Bilbo knows that they have mere seconds before they must leave too, and the thought gives him no pleasure. Today marks the start of extraordinary upheavals in his professional and personal life, and he is not sure he is ready to deal with all of them. Then, he squares his shoulders and pushes the thoughts away - he is an agent, first and foremost, and he will not let anything, even things like his own life get in the way of the responsibility he must shoulder.

 

He glances at Thorin, and is surprised to see that amusement has given way to cold seriousness. A part of him is gratified - Thorin takes the mission as seriously as he does, and he feels relief wash over him. It would be infinitely more troublesome if he were to pretend alone while Thorin took them all in the spirit of a joke. Bilbo wordlessly offers a hand to Thorin, comrades in the face of danger, and ignores the minute thrill that runs through him when the thick, strong fingers grasp firmly at his palm.

 

Thorin pushes the door open, his jaw set and ready to face the crowd. Bilbo lets a bright smile cover his own face - besotted and delirious with joy, as is required. Thorin’s eyes flick towards him once before they step out, and there is the barest hint of approval in his eyes. A small smile spreads across his own lips, not as foppish as his own, but happy no less. His mind unhelpfully supplies that Thorin’s acting skills are top notch, and Bilbo ignores that with ease as well.

 

The flashes of the camera are the first thing he sees, and he quickly averts his eyes to prevent loss of vision. It would do him no good to be blinded in a place when the glint of a small knife or a gun may be easily covered in the brightness of the lens flares. He scans the crowd for any sign of threat, but keeps the smile on just in case. He draws closer to Thorin, and feels the man wrap an arm around his shoulder. His smile increases to the point his jaws hurt, but the reporters lap it up with such eagerness that he wants to laugh.

 

“Mr. Oakenshield, when did you decide to marry?”

 

“Why Mr. Baggins? Was it because you were touched by his recent Oscar performances?”

 

“Mr. Oakenshield, will you identify as a gay man from now on?”

 

“When did you meet? Was this a whirlwind romance?”

 

“What about the lovely Ms. Florinda you were seeing not two months ago? Were you cheating on her behind her back?”

 

“Did you come out about this engagement because you were targeted?”

 

Journalists and paparazzi swarm them even as Thorin attempts to wade through their midst, and some of their more unsavoury questions makes Bilbo wince. Thorin answers them simply, letting no annoyance colour his tone, but he can sense the man’s impatience. “There would be a press conference later. For now, why don’t you join us and raise a toast in celebration of our upcoming marriage?”

 

The words only seem to encourage them more, and they gather around them like a bunch of hungry dogs. Thorin manages to push through them to get them both inside the doors, which swing shut as the two walk in to thunderous applause. Thorin looks just as confused as Bilbo feels, but it melts swiftly as he puts two and two together. From the distance, Bilbo can hear Kili’s clear voice call, “For Thorin Oakenshield and his fiance, Bilbo Baggins! A round of earth shattering applause!”

 

The clap of hands is almost too much for Bilbo, who knows the situation to be a nightmare for a bodyguard. Casual touches, acquaintances with grudges and the mire of people milling freely is terrible. Anyone with an agenda can target Thorin with ease before he can pinpoint them at all. He swiftly recounts the exits he has already found for emergencies, and forces himself to relax, going for his best head-over-heels expression to make himself look appealing as bait, and he almost trills as Thorin immediately notices the move and shifts his stance to look at him with such love and adoration that Bilbo almost stops breathing.He can scarcely believe that the emotions that sift through his eyes are not real, even though he knows that they are not.

Thorin is _perfect._

 

Thorin disengages from him to greet his first wave of well wishers, and Bilbo takes the time to readjust his thoughts and focus on his mission. He has to stick at Thorin’s side for every person who comes to wish them well, but he can see the disapproval in their eyes. They find him unworthy - either on the basis of his gender, or his occupation, or simply his very existence. Some of the smiles are so clearly fake that Bilbo almost cringes to see them.

 

Thorin accepts their greetings, faux or otherwise with equanimity, but the attention makes Bilbo itchy. He lets none of it spill over to his behaviour or his alertness, but the calculating gazes, the knowing little smiles and the surreptitious jabs set him on edge. His social grace is rapidly dying out as his frustrations mount with passing of time. He needs time to scour and gauge the audience, not be stuck making small talk with a bunch of strangers who find his very existence repulsive. Even though he is required to guard Thorin, he is also required to make himself easy bait to target instead of his fiance, and he needs to be alone for that to work.

 

He tugs Thorin down when he can take it no more. “Thorin, I see some of the members of my film fraternity gathered by the punch table. Would you excuse me long enough to go meet them?”

 

Thorin frowns slightly at the request, but does not show it to his guests. “Of course,” he leans over to press a kiss to his head, and Bilbo holds still under the caress. “But do not take too long. We need to exchange rings formally for the crowd.” The smile he gets is loving to the world, but Bilbo can see the suspicion hidden neatly inside it. He smothers a smirk and leaves his side, making a show of reluctance to the world.

 

As he moves away, he catches the clear whispers directed at his back.

 

A tartly dressed woman whispers loudly to her companion. “Why did Thorin pick him? Sure, he’s a star and all that, but he has no qualities beyond being a two-bit screen whore. Did you even see his movies? It’s like the man can’t act at all! He’s always so awkward on screen, ugh.”

 

Her companion, an equally pouffy woman with a pasty face that has been ineffectively attempted at making beautiful with copious amounts of makeup, nods emphatically. “And he’s so ugly, too. A man like Thorin - almost a god on earth - he deserves better. I doubt that their “love” will survive more than two months. Already it’s so fake that it makes my teeth hurt from the sugar content. Please. Thorin Oakenshield, being besotted with _that_? It doesn’t even bear thinking.”

 

Bilbo tenses when she mentions their pretense, but the clear jealousy in her tone is reward enough.

 

He turns and waves politely to them, calling sweetly over the crowd, ”Thorin and I are very grateful that you could join us to extend your _warm wishes._ ”

 

He makes sure to emphasize the point, and the two women flush to the roots of their hair. The crowd surrounding them snickers maliciously at their humiliation and Bilbo ignores them as they sputter angrily in response.

 

The whispers quiet down enough to prevent him from hearing them, but he has long since honed his skill of picking out words. He can still hear every word, but pretends otherwise. He can keep an ear out for more threatening comments.

 

Primula Brandybuck and her husband, Drogo grin brightly as he nears the punch table. He smiles back, glad to see them. Although Drogo is his closest family, he has not seen them in many months, and he revels in the opportunity to meet them in person. Primula drags him into a bone crushing hug, and Drogo pats him heartily on the back.

 

“Thorin Oakenshield, huh, cousin? What a catch you’ve made. The handsomest and the richest man in the world, and now, your fiance. How come his outraged fan club hasn’t torn you apart yet?”

 

Bilbo laughs. “I daresay they must have. I haven’t bothered to read the news so far, but I believe they will ferret and pore over every inch of my life to claim I am simply unworthy for their god. Even if their god is in love with me.”

 

Drogo grins at the comment, but his words are low and serious when he speaks again. “About that, cousin…”

 

“Well, well, well. Bilbo Baggins. Formerly my star actor, now a poofter with no work.”

 

Bilbo turns to face his new “friend” even as Primula hisses with rage.

 

Ted Sandyman does not even spare her a glance. He simply fixes Bilbo with a look of pure revulsion, and Bilbo gazes back. Even though Sandyman has spent years in the United States, he has always stuck to his stalwart British mannerisms. The sneer twists his lovely face into a mocking parody of it’s beauty.

 

Nothing compares to the distaste in his voice, either. “Since when have you been taking it up the ass, Baggins? Or did you find no one to take you up till now?”

 

Bilbo notes with increasing outrage that Sandyman is smarter than his previous dissenters - his smile is polite and the tone is only loud enough for his ears. To the world, the man looks like he is simply offering Bilbo congratulations. He also notes that the momentous declaration of his “sexuality” has turned a close friend into a raging homophobe.

 

He tries for a reasonable conversation, hoping to keep the fiercely proud man from loudly declaring his disgust for him to the world. “Ted,” he spreads out his hands placatingly and is surprised to see Sandyman flinch and step back with vehemence. “We were friends. Colleagues, even. Why does that vanish simply because I am choosing to marry a man? One I dearly love, no less?”

 

Bilbo observes with no joy that Sandyman’s eyes widen in hate - enough of his fake affections for Thorin must have come through. He is proven right when Sandyman hisses back, loathing lacing every word, “Friends? How dare you assume I could ever be friends with someone as depraved and unnatural as you? Just associating with you would disgrace me forever in the eyes of God. Love? Don’t speak to me of love. Every word you say about it poisons my soul and taints the pure love I hold for my wife -”

 

Drogo snorts loudly enough for half of the party to have heard them. Bilbo does not bother shushing him, because he can barely hear him over the roaring in his ears. “Pure love? Sandyman, if you’re going to be a bloody hypocrite, don’t paint yourself as a saint to do so. You have a new dalliance every week, and this is your fourth marriage in three years. If you’re going to preach to me about the greatness of your ‘God’, at least don’t use yourself as the example to do so. I’m sure adultery is as big a sin in the eyes of your ‘God’. And your wife isn’t even here, Ted. You brought that Italian girlfriend that you picked up last week in your stint to Rome. Your wife is at home, believing her perfect husband is shooting a documentary on war soldiers in Afghanistan, not standing about at a live-coverage party abusing his largest rainmaker for being a ‘fag’!”

 

Sandyman laughs, the sound harsh and equivalent to grating chalk in Bilbo’s ears. “Rainmaker? You? Since when have you contributed to the success of any of my movies, Baggins? The Oscar winning “Belinda”? That sold because of Esmeralda Took’s acting, not your gratifying presence. Or did you forget the debacle of the movie you chose to “co-direct” with me, “From Fires”? Who bailed your disease ridden arse then? I should have known already what you were when you used to vanish into that personal “room” of yours with that blond actor - Underhill? The guy who was stoned to death for being a child raping, molesting homo.”

 

Bilbo sneers back, astounded at how quickly the whole conversation has reached such bitterness. “Coming from the man I bailed for three sexual assault charges, I must say you’re making quite an impression. And I am your rainmaker, Sandyman. No one would buy a ticket for your movies without me in them. I make the corporations back you, people accept whatever ludicrous plot you come up with because _I am the one acting in it._ I make your characters jump to life, convert them into icons that glitter on and off screen for decades. And I do it without fucking the CEOs of marketing companies while claiming to be in love with my trophy wife.”

 

Sandyman maintains his facade, he can see the cracks. The man is quivering with fury, and Bilbo is not sure that he will hesitate to throw a punch to his face. “Atleast I keep it to women, Baggins. I don’t fuck sheep or children like you scum do.  And that Oakenshield - should have known he was a poof after he turned down every woman who came to him, prancing about as he does, the fag. Maybe he does his sisters’ sons too. Who knows, after all they’re in his ‘loving care’. I’m sure he shows them all the ‘love’ he can, possibly when they suck him off.”

 

White hot rage blazes in his mind, and Bilbo stops thinking for a second. Only Drogo’s calming hand stops him before he can fly at him - how dare he, accusing the two children and Thorin of taking advantage - Thorin loves his two nephews more than life itself. Bilbo does not have to spend more than ten seconds in their company to see the adoration that they feel for him, and the tenderness that Thorin treasures them with. To accuse something that pure or precious - to revile it with something so disgusting, so loathsome  -

 

He draws himself to his full height, but Sandyman barrels on, heedless of the murder in his own eyes. Furious beyond belief at the slander, even though his rational mind screams at him to slow down, think about it, ask himself why he is rushing blindly into Thorin’s defence, he shakes Drogo’s calming hand off. His cousin takes no notice, too busy clenching his fists. Then the thought is swept from his brain and Bilbo grabs Sandyman by the throat, his fingers digging in painfully at the veins. His body remembers the years of training of speed and stealth, and he moves so swiftly that his motion is all but invisible. Sandyman chokes once, then stills, his eyes watering and wide with pure fear.

 

Bilbo covers the advance with his own body, adjusting his stance that no one notices the death grasp he has on his ‘friends’ throat. “Do not ever speak of Thorin in that way, you understand?” Rage makes his fingers tighten almost mercilessly in the chokehold, and Sandyman makes a sound between a squeak and outrage. “Thorin loves his nephews as if they were his own children. Do not spew your filthy words at a bond you do not even understand - he has raised those children since they were three.” His voice drops, freezing cold. “And most of all, do not threaten the honour of someone I adore and respect, Sandyman, or you will not live to regret it.”

 

Sandyman shivers at the icy abhorrence in Bilbo’s eyes. Sandyman is starting to turn blue from the lack of oxygen, and for a vicious moment Bilbo imagines throttling him. But the moment passes as swiftly as it comes, his mind screaming at him to stop before he goes too far. Bilbo unwraps his fingers from him, feeling defiled at the very touch as Sandyman draws himself to his feet, all but spitting in rage. “I will not forget this, Baggins. You shall not go scot free after this. I shall see you rot, you child-fucking scumbag!” He massages his neck, and Bilbo can see the marks stand out as clearly as the sun.

 

The temperature drops around them as Bilbo starts forward. “I care not if you do not forgive, as long as you do not forget. You do not want to see what I do to people I care for, Sandyman. It will be your last sensation.” Bilbo lets the actor fade away to reveal a part of himself that he has never shown in public before, and Sandyman scrambles away, loathing, shame and fear mixing in his eyes. “Get out, Sandyman. Or I shall call the security on you.”

 

With a final scorching glare, Sandyman turns on his heel and walks away swiftly, hands covering his neck to prevent anyone from seeing the evidence of Bilbo’s fingers, pressing into him with enough strength to bend steel.

 

“Good riddance,” Drogo mutters behind him in a furious whisper, and Bilbo starts to nod before he is distracted by a low, deep chuckle. _Thorin._

 

Thorin stands behind them, regal and handsome as ever, but the steel in his eyes is ample proof that he has heard everything. His tone remains light and amused, but no one is fooled enough to not see the simmering anger underneath. “Here I came to fetch you for the exchange of rings, only to find you engaged in a particularly exciting exchange of your own.”

 

Bilbo grins sheepishly at the bad joke and allows Thorin to reach for his hand. “You could have just called me.”

 

Thorin shakes his head, and his hair shifts behind him in a curtain of black velvet. “I wanted to see you myself. And had I sent someone, I would have missed this delightful conversation.”

 

Guilt and shame rise so suddenly within Bilbo that he almost chokes on them. “Thorin, I did not mean - I meant no offense - I did not know he would slander your honour thus - had I known better -”

 

Thorin cuts off his stammers with a hand, forestalling all apologies. “Do not worry. You defended my honour quite ably on your own. I doubt any honour was tossed, save for his own.” Thorin’s words are warm, and the iron in his eyes has softened and given way to a pleasant comfort. _Genuine,_ Bilbo thinks. _He is genuinely pleased at my defence._

 

He quickly shuts the thought out of his head, because he does not know what to do with it. Changing track to a topic that he feels is safer than this one, he leans into Thorin as his ‘fiance’ draws him away from Primula and Drogo. “Where are Fili and Kili?”

 

Thorin looks surprised at his question. “Ten minutes into the party they went to make acquaintance with a gaggle of girls, no doubt children of my business associates. I have no doubt we shall find them charming some girl off her feet.”

 

Inspite of himself, Bilbo grins at Thorin’s wry tone, and allows himself to be pulled into the fray, leaving thoughts of Ted Sandyman behind him.

 

____

 

True to his word, they find Kili and Fili wrapped up in conversation with a pair of college going girls. The girls greet them politely, then turn away to giggle. Bilbo reminds himself again that he yet does not understand women. One of them has her hands flung around Kili, grasping him gently.

 

Fili and Kili seem particularly reluctant to leave their newfound friends, blowing them kisses and small waves that the girls return with equal, if shy enthusiasm. Thorin rolls his eyes at their antics, but the disapproval softens at the bright smile the two sport.

 

“Uncle Thorin. Why couldn’t you have come ten minutes later? Fili and I were just about to get them to agree to a date with us.” Kili whines piteously, and his brother jabs him in the side to shush him. Kili simply grins at him roguishly, and Bilbo feels the urge to roll his eyes in return.

 

Thorin is immune to the trickery, however. “Because you are needed for the press conference, and the exchange of rings. And from their enthusiasm and the little smiles they kept dropping you, I doubt you would have to return to see them lost to two other pranksters.”

 

Kili looks wounded, and Fili’s expression slips into a mockery of shock.

 

Thorin chuckles at their woebegone expression, and Bilbo does roll his eyes. He reaches out to cuff both his nephews, and the fake misery slides away instantly. They lean into Thorin, eager for his affection, and Thorin gives it to them easily. In the midst of their group, Bilbo feels painfully aware of just how young the two really are - and how dependent they are on Thorin. He is the only living family they have, and they follow him about as puppies to their mother. Having taken them under his wings when they were so young, Bilbo can imagine that he must fulfil both roles of a parent for them. His nephews are good for him, as well. Thorin Oakenshield, brilliant entrepreneur and consummate businessman fades away to reveal Thorin Oakenshield, the adoring parent. For a moment Bilbo wonders why Thorin has never found himself a lover. The man embodies perfection that is almost indescribable. Another part of him chides him for having romantic fantasies about him - just because Thorin is turning out to be incredibly loving and caring does not mean the same emotions apply to him.

 

He is so lost in his thoughts that he never sees the brothers fling themselves at him as well.

 

“Uncle Bilbo can’t be left alone, after all,” Kili croons mockingly, grabbing his waist.

 

Fili smirks beside him, squashing Bilbo against his chest. “He’d be jealous of Uncle Thorin.” He turns Bilbo to face him, ignoring the squawk of protest at the manhandling, “Don’t worry, uncle. We love you too. You’ll be our favouritest uncle ever!”

 

Bilbo struggles in their hold to no avail, then glares daggers at Thorin as the man watches them, offering no help of his own. His shoulders are shaking with quiet laughter. “Get your blasted nephews off me!”

 

Kili has the gall to look upset, and Bilbo wants to cuff him. “But, I thought you liked us, Uncle.”

 

The tone is so mournful that Bilbo ceases struggling for a moment. “Of course I do -” He tries to console him, but catches the shift in expression to wicked. “You two tricksters! Let me off this very moment! Tricking me into feeling sorry for you- you should be ashamed of yourselves!” He shifts his hot gaze to Thorin, who seems to be having trouble controlling his amusement. “Call them off, or god help me…”

 

To his credit, Thorin straightens, composing himself. Laughter is still threaded in his tone, but he has calmed enough. “Leave your uncle, boys. He needs to be able to breathe.”

 

At once, Fili and Kili drop him, and Bilbo finds himself nursing a butt against hard floor. Grumbling, he picks himself again and ignores the giggles following him with offended dignity. “Shall we?” he huffs, patting away the non existent dust from his backside.

 

Thorin swallows a smile and nods at him to carry them forward.

 

Bilbo sniffs dispassionately and stalks forward to an overdecorated podium - possibly the work of an overenthusiastic decorator. He climbs on to it with all the grace he can muster with an aching backside, and finds it utterly unfair that Thorin can simply swagger onto it with majesty.

 

People have already started to gather around them, milling like ants. All eyes are on them now, pinning them with such eagerness that BIlbo feels almost naked under their scrutiny. Thorin takes the stage, his delicious voice reaching all corners of the hall, and BIlbo suppresses a delighted shiver.

 

“I welcome you all to the engagement ceremony between Bilbo Baggins and I. We can not express what a pleasure it has been to invite all of your here to share your good graces, nor what an honour it is to have you all suspend your various tasks to make time for us today. We thank you from the bottom of our hearts. However, keeping in mind that most of us are always hard pressed for time, I shall not dawdle any further and solemnly ask for Mr. Baggins’ hand.”

 

The crowd laughs at his suggestion, and Bilbo finds himself getting up to face his “fiance”. Thorin’s mask of joy is perfect - loving, adoring, ecstatic. He can only hope his stays glued on just as tightly.

 

Thorin motions for Kili to step forward with the ring, and his nephew quickly clambers on to the stage. But Bilbo’s sharp eyes can pinpoint the inconsistencies in the motion - Kili almost trips over himself, unbalanced. A flush is rising on his cheeks, and his eyes are gaining a fevered glint.

 

Nevertheless, he walks up the stage with almost no ill effects, grinning brightly all the same. There is no tremor when he walks, and he takes out the ring box to place onto Thorin’s outstretched palm.

 

Bilbo can recall the next few moments with hideous clarity. As Kili takes a step towards Thorin to place the box, he stumbles - falling over completely on them. Bilbo catches him in his arms instantly, and his heart almost stops at the rill of blood that traces it’s way out of the corner of his lips. The ring box clatters away in the deafening silence. Kili is unconscious in his arms, but his body twitches uncontrollably. Bilbo tightens his hold to prevent him from thrashing.

 

“CALL FOR HELP!” He hears himself yell, but his mind is stomping out on his panic and calling his professional core beneath. He lays Kili out gently on the floor, pausing to check if he is breathing. Thorin makes a noise beside him, but Bilbo is too focused to figure out what. This is what he had came for. To protect Thorin. To fail this way -

 

Kili is breathing, even though every breath is laboured. Bilbo breathes a sigh of relief.

 

“KILI!” Fili has scrambled up to them, staring at them fearfully.

 

He needs to find out the assassin now. He needs to abandon Kili to complete the mission he was hired for. His core of steel harshly shuts any sympathy that may bubble through. He carefully hands Kili to Thorin, who takes him as though he might break. “Watch him carefully, make sure he keeps breathing. He may throw up, so don’t let him choke on his own vomit. He has been acutely poisoned.”

 

Fili looks up at him heartbroken, and Bilbo dusts himself off. Thorin’s eyes are palpable with rage. “And where do you think you’re going?”

 

“To complete the job I was hired for. To find the assassin hidden here and get the antidote for Kili. Otherwise he will die here before we can help him.”

 

Thorin averts his eyes, but Bilbo catches the sheen of tears. Rage, sorrow and helpless grief are easy to see. Then, he shakes his head, stands, and darts off the stage. He knows this particular poison. And he knows who has poisoned him. The thought of facing them fills him with fear.

 

*_*_*_*

 

Bilbo races through the guests, looking for her. He has heard of her - the legendary assassin that she is. How could he have been so stupid? So very blind? He does not deserve the mission he has been given, if he has messed up so easily and so early into it.

 

Loathing rises like a snake to bite him, and he clamps it down firmly. No, any emotional reaction can cost Kili his life. He has no time for mistakes. He can not afford any when the price is Kili’s life.

 

He spots her, and she weaves through the crowd with sophisticated ease. He knows she is making herself visible, easy to spot. She wants something from him, something that she is prepared to kill for. And she is making it obvious.

 

She slips away into the shadows and Bilbo quickly adjusts his route so that he does not lose sight of her. The crowd crosses and closes in at some point, their panic and curiosity at an all time high. They are all gathering towards the stage where Thorin holds his nephew and tearfully begs him to wake. The thought is macabre, and Bilbo shakes his head to dismiss it from his thoughts.

 

She slips behind an open door to the roof, and he races after her, putting in an extra burst of speed. She turns to him, and the sweetest smile graces her lips. Then she is gone as the crowd converges on him, obscuring her from sight.

 

Growling, Bilbo crouches down and gets on four feet, easily disappearing beneath the sea of legs. He weaves through them even more efficiently, ignoring the shrieks and the hisses of outrage. He can care about niceties when a life is not in danger.

 

He reaches the door ten seconds behind her, and wrenches it open to reveal a dull gray stairwell, gleaming under the cold moon. He can see her hair stream behind her as she runs across the steps. She is close to the roof now, and Bilbo knows that if she reaches the roof before him, all will be lost.

 

He runs up the stairs three, four at a time, but she is faster, darting like a lizard. He reaches to a hidden pocket in his coat and pulls a sharp, thin knife, suited just for throwing. He takes careful aim, and lets the blade fly.

 

It glitters in the silver moonlight as it sings past her, but the gasp of pain tells him enough. She grabs her hand, and he can see the stain of blood. But the turn she has taken to avoid the blade jars her momentum, and she falls through the open roof door, her legs spread wide on the stairs.

 

He is only a flight below. She cannot escape him quickly enough, even as he sees her draw her feet in, getting up faster than he thought possible. She will make a run for it. And he will stop her.

 

She laughs breathlessly, hand still clutching the bleeding arm. He knows the cut is deep, tearing through tendon and muscle. He knows that the compound on it will cause icy pain.

 

She has run to almost the end of the ceiling as he runs out onto the roof. Her eyes sparkle maliciously in the moonlight. “Well, well, well. Bilbo Baggins. I should have known you would find me.”

 

She laughs again, and Bilbo pulls out two more knives. He needs to take her out.

 

“I knew the decoy was too easy, that you would catch it with ease. But that was why I tried it. A simple application, to coat the edges of your nails with a timed release poison. So plebeian a method that I felt almost ashamed to stoop to it. But, it did the trick. I have your attention now. The boy does not matter to me anymore.” She reaches down to a pocket and takes a tube, one that she flicks carelessly in the night.

 

Bilbo sprints to catch the vial before it shatters against the roof, jumping forward when he cannot make it in time. He catches it barely by the tips of his fingers. He curls them around, knowing what it is. Then, he realises his folly. His actions have given her enough time to find her escape.

 

She stands on the ledge of the roof, all but obscured in the shadow of the buildings to the side. He can see her silhouette, and the sparkle of her eyes. But when she speaks, her tone is almost worshipping. Bilbo closes his eyes in grief.

 

“You were my hero. I learnt my art to become just like you. Even the name I picked, was from something you said. I adored you, and you threw us all behind. But don’t worry, I’m here to bring you back to the fold. You are, after all, the legendary Hobbit.”

 

She tips herself off the roof, falling into the abyss below. Bilbo does not scramble after her, he knows she has escaped. He will not catch her now, not until she surfaces again.He holds still, hands tightly clenched around the vial, trying to claw her last words out of his mind.

 

“Welcome back, The Hobbit. Shelob the spider says hello.”

 

_*_*_*_

To Be Continued.

 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just blather, really. 
> 
> Part of why I was late was because exams are still on, and I am deeply besotted with the Preset Male Hawke from Dragon Age 2. I've been playing him as a mage, and squeeing all over him as he fireballs people. That and I have been busy with stalking Dragon Age: Inquisition. It's looking awesome so far. 
> 
> Although I had a pretty significant note planned, I can now remember none of it. Thus, you get this post of nonsense. As always, comments of any sort are extremely welcome. 
> 
> I'd still appreciate a beta. I really need to have someone look my work over and refine it. Weed out mistakes. I don't trust my capacity to do it satisfactorily on my own.


End file.
